


Argyle's Good Omens Drabble Collection

by Argyle



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-16
Updated: 2008-07-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 21:07:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 33
Words: 4,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12943911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Argyle/pseuds/Argyle
Summary: Assorted drabbles 2004-2008.





	1. July 21, 1969

**Author's Note:**

> Assorted drabbles 2004-2008.

Aziraphale sighed wistfully. “I never thought I would see this day.”

“What day is that?”

“Oh, men in rockets, flying to the moon. It’s amazing that they weren’t all incinerated.”

“I was there, you know.”

“Come, Crowley.”

Crowley smiled.

“ _You_ went to the moon?”

“What?” Crowley replied. “ _Oh_. No, you have it all wrong. They filmed the landing at a warehouse in Toronto last month. I was there the day before, overseeing a Herman’s Hermits promo-clip.”

“Toronto?”

“Well, yes. It _is_ an economi-- er, otherworldly place. I thought _everyone_ knew.”

After a long moment, Aziraphale managed, “Of course, my dear.”


	2. Mixed Nuts

“Er, would you...” Aziraphale cleared his throat, “...like some mixed nuts, my dear?” He held forth a garishly colored tin, the contents of which, according to the label, were the delight of St. Patrick.

“You’ve picked out everything but the filberts again, haven’t you?”

“No!” He smiled. “That is to say, I’ve not the foggiest idea of what you’re referring to.”

Crowley sighed.

As far as jokeshop novelties went, such things were fairly low on his list, if only for the false advertising; to replace the paper snakes with live ones seemed only fitting.

Aziraphale came to several hours later.


	3. Beyond Good and Evil

“You’re giving these to me?” Aziraphale glanced from the silver thimble on the board to the deceptively bright notes before him.

Crowley nodded encouragingly. “No. It’s a loan from the bank.”

“But _you’re_ the banker and this is the _fourth_ time I’ve landed on Mayfair.”

“That’s the idea.” Crowley pulled another two sheets of goldenrod paper from the tray. “You ought to have followed my advice about mortgaging those railroads.”

Aziraphale sighed, taking the notes and giving them back again.

“Good. Now, see?” Crowley concentrated on the dice and moved his tiny racecar forward. “Capitalism is all in the wrist.”


	4. The Muse

“Listen, Will,” Crowley said with carefully articulated distinctness, setting a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “First, you have to woo him. Tell him his eyes are a rather... nice shade of blue.”

“Ah.” He appeared to consider this, his brow knit, and at length replied, “But Master Crowley... he-- he has brown eyes.”

“ _Blue_ eyes.” Crowley paused to take a great gulp from his tankard. “And a stupid smile that somehow began to grow on you after the first thousand years or so, and fine hands-- are you taking notes?”

A reluctant nod.

“Good. Now let’s talk about pentameter.”


	5. The Most Curious Thing

“Ah.” Aziraphale frowned, glancing back to the tree. “Er, well, thank you. I suppose--”

“Listen,” Crowley cut in. “I’m going to give you one last chance. Either tell us which way to go or I’ll... I’ll...” The Cat was still grinning at him. “You’ll be sorry.”

“That depends,” it purred, “a good deal on where you want to get to...” though before it could continue, it burst into flames, jumped to the ground with a surprisingly levelheaded cry, and scurried into the forest.

Aziraphale coughed against the back of his hand.

“Come again?” Crowley caught his eye.

“Good show.”


	6. Business as Usual

The phone chimed thirty-two times before Crowley relented. “Yes?”

“Hello, my dear!” Aziraphale’s voice floundered over the breadth of innumerable miles. “I rang because-- no, I’m _on_ the _line_. No, I _told_ you, I’ll not have another drink. There’s _sand_ in my _trousers_. All right, just a moment. Crowley, are you there?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” A pause. “I just wondered how you were getting on.”

“Fine, fine.”

“I see.” A steel drum bellowed through the din.

“Aziraphale?”

“Mm?”

“Where _are_ you?”

“Oh! There’s a rather _interesting_ story behind--”

The line went dead.

Crowley replaced the receiver with a shudder.

Somewhere in the tropics, a drunken angel was being pulled into a beach-side conga line.


	7. When in Rome

“He played the fiddle as it burned, you know.”

“ _Did_ he?” Aziraphale asked against the rim of his tankard. “He seemed like such a nice boy. _Odd_ , but nice.”

“He was out of his head,” Crowley chuckled. “With or without it.”

“Yes, well. By my calculations, I’m still up by one.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Augustus counted as three.” Aziraphale smiled affably.

“I _never_ agreed to that.”

“Yes, you did.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “Well, Caligula and his horse ought to count as two.”

“Naturally.”

“And what did we finally decide about Claudius?”

“Stalemate.”

“Stalemate?”

“On account of Britannia.”

“Oh,” Crowley sighed. “Right.”


	8. Northern Lights

The sky was a great wash of color, a shifting veil of light which hung low over the horizon. Aziraphale had not been this far north in centuries.

“They’re caused by solar particles colliding with the earth’s atmosphere at enormous speeds.” The words felt cold on his tongue, and he huddled into the woolen folds of his greatcoat. He glanced to Crowley. “Sailors called them maidens, and the maidens called them swans.”

The air seemed to crackle, to stir and swell.

“It’s to do with the nitrogen, I believe, though they remind me,” Aziraphale said wistfully, rocking back on his heels. “They rather remind me of home.” He flinched, bit his lip, but the words were already spoken; they had rushed from his lips like dancing motes of light, particles which bloomed and flashed and faded. An image of Crowley’s outraged face sprang up in his mind even before he turned, and he began to stammer an apology.

Crowley stood quite still. His arms were folded across his chest, and his smooth brow was cast in blue and laced by violet. His sunglasses were gone, and his mouth was curled into the faintest of smiles.

Dawn was not far away.


	9. Victorian Intuition

“I’m pretty sure that’s highly illegal,” Aziraphale admonished over the rim of his glass. He coughed lightly, narrowing his eyes. “You climb _up_ the ladders and slide _down_ the snakes.”

“No, no.” Crowley shook his head and moved the red token forward. “I read the ob-- _in_ structions. Land on one square, climb up, up, up the snake, and stop on...”

“Drunkenness?”

“’S not a sin.”

Aziraphale spun the dial. “Four,” he said, and moved the blue token. “And now I...”

“Climb the snake.”

“Climb the snake.” He felt a flush in his cheeks. “Er. Well.”

“Lust.”

“Now what?”

Crowley smiled.


	10. In This Style

Aziraphale straightened his tie. “Well, that was--”

“Absolutely mad,” Crowley finished.

“Mm. I daresay such hats went out of fashion _years_ ago, and it was a bit of a bother to swap seats, but the food was rather good.”

“ _Food?_ ” Crowley laughed shortly. “What food? I didn’t get one bloody cup of tea. The service would’ve been better in a medieval dungeon.”

“Oh, I ate something, surely...”

“Yes?” After a moment, Crowley smiled. “How’s your watch? I’ve heard that mustard is very corrosive.”

“Only spicy Dijon. The kind he used was _quite_ sweet.”

Crowley felt his stomach rumble. “Really?”


	11. Sticks and Stones

Aziraphale smoothed dust from the aged wall before him, coughing lightly and repositioning his torch. “The rest of the inscription seems to have chipped away. Do you see?” he tut-tutted. “But whatever the Egyptians lacked in hospitality, they made up for in thoroughness.”

“Oh?” Crowley asked.

“They’ve gone to a considerable amount of trouble with this whole curse business. A mortal might die in a thousand different ways, but suggesting that one’s innards will explode with the heat of a hundred suns takes a certain panache.”

Crowley’s face drained, visibly, of color.

“Well, it isn’t as bad as it sounds.”


	12. Holiday at 15000 Feet

It wasn’t so much a fall as a complete loss of all bodily functions in the grinning face of simple physics.

The alpine sun shone down upon the jumble of limbs and aerodynamic accoutrements; Crowley’s freshly waxed skis were making their own merry way down the mountain with a flourish of poly-fiber conditioning. His scarf had taken to the air somewhere between the thirteenth mogul and his impromptu shortcut through a neighboring copse, and his cap had been snatched away by the imploring fingers of an over-zealous fir. His sunglasses hung askew across his brow. A serving of snow had swindled its way into his trousers. He let out a long, shuddering breath. He felt bad.

Aziraphale swooped down the trail and slid to an effortless halt beside him.

“Really, my dear,” he said, consternation and admonishment momentarily darkening his features. He skewered the crisp surface of the snow with his poles and dashed his gloved hands together. “I thought you said you could ski.”

Crowley raised himself with his elbows. “I _assumed_ I could.”

Aziraphale considered this. “Well, perhaps we might go back to the room and, er, freshen up a bit. I believe they’re still serving breakfast in the lodge,” he said, after a moment. “The Swiss do so love melted cheese.”

Crowley didn’t need to be asked twice.

Twenty-seven minutes later, he lay sprawled across the duvet, head propped atop a pillow as the fire warmed his toes. Aziraphale sipped his liqueur-laced cocoa and loosened his collar.


	13. Jewels of the World

Crowley remembered the orange groves of Córdoba, the philosophers who came before, and the poets who came after. He remembered the prayers which blossomed through the streets with the first rays of dawn, and the dust as it laced his robes in the long hours of the open market. There were necklaces of gold and bright birds in bowed cages.

The angel had been there too, marveling after the tiled halls and the crisp air of the library. Beneath the dotted eyes of an unfulfilled prophecy, their words grew flushed with spiced wine. Aziraphale peeled an orange in the darkness.


	14. argyleheir

A drabble for the [](https://go100.livejournal.com/profile)[**go100**](https://go100.livejournal.com/) Line Twist challenge.

9/22/05

"High Art"

“Well, what did you expect? Dogs playing poker?”

Aziraphale stared up at the canvas, aghast. “I suppose the robes are very life-like.”

“Robes?” Crowley laughed shortly.

“That nymph is wearing robes.”

“Which one?”

“Just there.” Aziraphale gestured vaguely. “To the left of the giant clamshell.”

“She looks like the Metatron’s Alsatian.” A slow smile curled Crowley’s lips. “Those hooves of yours must be uncomfortable, angel.”

Aziraphale blanched.

“Is that a fife you’re playing?”

“Er, I believe it’s a double-barreled alpine horn,” he said, offhandedly relieved to not have opted to commission the starry-eyed young painter’s Money Saving Church Ceiling Package.


	15. argyleheir

Another go at the [](https://go100.livejournal.com/profile)[**go100**](https://go100.livejournal.com/) Technology challenge, this time within the word-limit.

10/21/05

"The Black Art"

“Yes, of course I’m bloody well listening,” Crowley mumbled, and stifled a yawn. It was rather hard to assemble the bits and knobs and whistles of the angel’s explanation.

“I must say Herr Gutenberg has been _remarkably_ kind about proceeding with all of this. He’s assured me he’ll have a working model by year’s end. The Germans are such a very _diligent_ people, don’t you think?” Aziraphale paused, smiling patiently. “Do you know what’s to be the first thing printed?”

“An anthology of drinking songs?”

Aziraphale blanched. “Really, my dear,” he said. “Have you been at my private files again?”


	16. argyleheir

A drabble for the [](https://go100.livejournal.com/profile)[**go100**](https://go100.livejournal.com/) Out of Context challenge.

"The Devil's Dyke" (Cambridgeshire, 689)

Aziraphale stared up at the mound with the sort of soft, bemused expression that he generally reserved for feelings of intense embarrassment. “Mightn’t an advancing army just go around it?”

“Yeah,” Crowley said with a smile. “That’s the beauty: sixty feet by seven and a half miles of expensive nothingness.”

“Ah. Modernism.”

His smile became even wider and more conspiratorial. “You’ll like this.” He ambled towards the top, his cloak flapping about him, and retrieved a neatly folded sheet of paper from his tunic. He glanced over his shoulder; he licked his finger and tested the wind. The aeroplane soared.


	17. argyleheir

A drabble for the [](https://go100.livejournal.com/profile)[**go100**](https://go100.livejournal.com/) History challenge.

"Afterlife"

Something happens to Aziraphale when he sees and touches old books that people who are dead now read and wrote on, closed and put away, took out and opened back up and closed again. He feels that he has proven that a person who is dead now was once really and truly alive. He trembles. Maybe it is just the cold, or nerves; maybe it is the curl of the pages, the ink and leather, the particular scent that is dusty and sad and sweet at once.

The gold leaf glints in the half-light.

He trembles, and the dead live.


	18. argyleheir

A silly double drabble, initially for the [](https://go100.livejournal.com/profile)[**go100**](https://go100.livejournal.com/) Trials and Tribulations challenge.

2/28/06

"The Naming of Things"

Above the rustle of trees, the chatter of birds, the grumble of bears, clear to the far shore of the river and nearly on the opposite side of Eden, a series of moans could be heard. It wasn’t just any sort of moan, or not yet: Danish truffles were still a few millennia away.

Aziraphale sighed. “D’you suppose they _ever_ get tired?”

Crawly shrugged in the slightly alarming way that he had, a shrug that began with his nose, wound its way down the coiled length of his body, and settled at the tip of his tail. Apparently one didn’t need shoulders to appear both lazy and provocative. “Dunno. Does it matter?”

“Yes, I think it should,” said Aziraphale. “They’ve been at it for _days_.”

“Three weeks, four days, and eighteen hours,” Crawly said. “Give or take.”

“There you are, then.”

“Like rabbits.”

“Like what?”

“Rabbits.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said. “Well. Shall _we_ have another go?”

Crawly shrugged again. “Don’t see why not.”

“Good.” A pause, and then: “Animal, vegetable, or mineral?”

“Animal.”

“It is rabbits?”

Crawly rolled his eyes, an act which was rather more alarming than his shrug. “Yes,” he said.

Aziraphale smiled. He was getting good at this.


	19. argyleheir

A drabble for the [](https://go100.livejournal.com/profile)[**go100**](https://go100.livejournal.com/) Hobbies challenge. ^^;;

4/21/06

"Misdirection"

Stage magic is an exact science. A too-slow sleight of hand here, an incriminating bit of silk hanging from one’s sleeve there: one slipup and the gentle illusionist might forever lose his audience’s confidence.

Aziraphale understood this.

He also understood that dedication is the better part of showmanship.

“Now, if I hold my hat like so, and tap it as such...”

For several moments, nothing happened.

Then, the hat twitched.

Aziraphale’s shop filled with the scent of charred turnip. He smiled; it was his first major success. “Bon appetite,” he said, glad to have postponed Basil the rabbit’s big debut.


	20. argyleheir

...And a double drabble for the [](https://go100.livejournal.com/profile)[**go100**](https://go100.livejournal.com/) Out of Time challenge.

4/25/06

"Parting Gifts"

Aziraphale blinked against the harsh glare of the studio lights. He told himself this: there must be an answer, one and only one correct response which will lead down the path of righteousness.

“Sixty seconds,” purred the host.

A bead of sweat traced a path down Aziraphale’s temple. “Um,” he said. “Might you repeat the question?”

“Certainly. In a controversial 1966 interview, to whom did Beatle John Lennon liken the group’s popularity?”

A pause; a deep breath. “Rimsky-Korsakov?”

The host’s grin widened. “Oh, I’m _so_ sorry, but the answer--”

Crowley clicked off the television. “Good show,” he said.

“Good show?” Aziraphale echoed. “It was nothing short of amazing. I rather bungled it at the very end, you know, but one must accept one’s limitations. I thought them _exceptionally_ kind to give me the complementary home edition.”

“And the five-piece deck set?”

“Mint green vinyl... I say, but you were right about Door Number Three.”

“That part’s scripted.”

“Like clockwork.”

“Naturally.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale continued, “I’ll have to make room for the extra set of Encyclopædia Britannica, and I suppose I can keep the sailing boat docked at Brighton for a while, but the Bengal tiger will have to go.”


	21. argyleheir

A drabble for the [](https://go100.livejournal.com/profile)[**go100**](https://go100.livejournal.com/) "first line with a twist" challenge.

5/16/06

"2000 Light Years from Home"

“Would you believe me if I told you?”

“Believe you? These can only mean one thing!” Brian flipped through the stack of postcards: Los Angeles, Chicago, New York, Miami, Rio de Janeiro, Tokyo, Sydney, Barcelona, Paris, Berlin. “I never thought you’d have it in you. A roadie for the Rolling Stones!”

“ _What?_ ”

“So, did you get me Mick’s autograph? What’s he like?”

“That isn’t--” Wensleydale stopped short. With each passing second, the words Flight Attendant sounded rather less like a unique business experience in a cooperative environment with opportunity for advancement. He sighed. “Well, his bags are quite heavy.”  


And also, in an effort to be less of a recluse around these parts, I've re-reinstalled AIM on my computer. My username is, appropriately, alwaystimefortea. Hope to chat with you all there!


	22. argyleheir

A drabble for the [](https://go100.livejournal.com/profile)[**go100**](https://go100.livejournal.com/) Trouble in Paradise challenge.

6/7/06

"Easter Island"

“ _How_ many did you commission?”

Crowley gritted his teeth. “Fifty,” he said. “Give or take a dozen. The stonemason was having a special on the double-plus size. Now I know why.”

Aziraphale stared up at the statue, and the statue glowered back. “Well, the brow is very strong, very _dignified_.”

“Ngk.”

“I feel quite flustered to imagine an entire fleet of them, adorning the hillside like great big... stone heads.”

“Here.” Crowley handed him a half-full tropical cocktail cup. “Have some of this.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said between sips, “it’s marvelous. Rather tangy.”

Crowley smiled. “That would be the human spit.”


	23. argyleheir

Er. Here's a drabble (and a half) for the [](https://go100.livejournal.com/profile)[**go100**](https://go100.livejournal.com/) First Line challenge.

8/13/06

"But Once a Year"

 

“Well, I hope you’re happy now.”

Aziraphale smiled. This was true: he _was_ happy.

He watched the fleet of waiters recede. The lights rose to their former brightness, and after a long moment, the din of conversation swept back through the restaurant.

“Though I must say, I’d rather expected the maitre d’ to be a tenor,” he said around a spoonful of chocolate mousse. “His G6 on the ‘jolly good fellow’ bit seemed to take even _him_ by surprise.”

With a sharp flick of his wrist, Crowley adjusted his party hat. “Wait’ll he goes to the loo.”

“Really,” Aziraphale coughed. He narrowed his eyes; the single candle on Crowley’s slice of cake flared violently back to life.

Crowley arched a brow. “What was that about discretion?”

“Er.” Aziraphale’s lips twitched, and a flush rose in his cheeks. “The chap at the party shop _assured_ me they weren’t the trick kind.”


	24. argyleheir

And tripping off the curb of my vacation, here's a regrettable drabble for the [](https://go100.livejournal.com/profile)[**go100**](https://go100.livejournal.com/) Possession challenge. -_-;;

8/24/06

"Deuces Wild"

Crowley tossed his cards onto the table. “Pair of sevens.”

“Hmm.” As Aziraphale pulled his glass from his lips, his expression drifted beyond the waters of bemusement to drop anchor in satisfaction. “Royal flush.”

“I can’t _believe_ it. That’s the fifth in a row.”

“Sixth.”

Crowley glared at the pile of clothes by his feet: jacket, shirt, tie, and boots. “Can’t go on forever,” he said, and snapped his fingers. A low rumble shook the room. “Hear that?”

“The thermostat, I presume.” Aziraphale began shuffling the deck, but then paused. “Well?”

Crowley threw back his wine and unbuckled his belt.


	25. argyleheir

A drabble and a snippet for the [](https://go100.livejournal.com/profile)[**go100**](https://go100.livejournal.com/) Education challenge:

9/1/06

"The Devil's Dictionary"

“This is it?” Crowley started down at the parcel. “Somehow I thought it’d be bigger.”

The apprentice shook his head, dragging an ink-stained hand across his brow. “No, sir,” he said breathlessly. “It is only _A_.”

“Ah.” Crowley pulled a coin from his pocket. “And when do you expect your master will return?”

“Tuesday next, or later. Doctor Johnson enjoys long holidays.”

Crowley nodded and pushed _A_ into his cloak. He would start at the begging, he decided. He wouldn’t waste time peeking ahead to azimuth.

It would be good to have a word about aardvarks before the angel did.

9/1/06

"Shadow Theory"

Crowley took a gulp of wine. “You know. There’s this cave.”

“With sleeping bears in?” asked Aziraphale.

“No, no. ’S not a bear cave. There’re these prisoners who’re chained up, and all they can see are the shadows of things.”

“That’s an attribute of partial blindness, I believe. Or is it astigmatism?”

“Oh,” Crowley agreed. And then: “So the shadows on the wall. They’re more real than, well, _real_ to these prisoners. And all they can hear are the echoes of the voices of the people who’re casting the shadows. The thing is, _they don’t know any better_. Sounds familiar, eh?”

“Hmm.”

Crowley held his hands up beside the candle on their table, and a wavering shadow was thrown across the wall. He waggled his fingers. “Like that.”

“Um.” Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. “Looks like a duck.”

“’S not a duck. ’S a lobster.”

“No,” said Aziraphale. He set down his goblet, pushed back his chair, and pointed. “See? There’s the bill.” He drew his finger down a crack in the wall. “And there’re the little webbed feet.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes. He had to admit: it looked like a duck. “Well. You get my point,” he said, and turned to the wide-eyed young man at the table beside them. “Isn’t that right, er...”

“Pluto,” whispered Aziraphale.

“Pluto,” said Crowley.

The young man smiled, nodded, and excused himself to the lavatory.


	26. argyleheir

G'morning! *blink, blink* Here's an overgrown drabble for the [](https://go100.livejournal.com/profile)[**go100**](https://go100.livejournal.com/) Written challenge.

9/22/2006

“A Touch of Destiny”

“Now,” said Anathema, “turn the cup three times from left to right.”

Newt did as he was told.

“Don’t slosh. Just gently invert it onto your saucer so the tea can drain out.”

“I don’t really see how this is supposed to--”

“Now turn it back over again. That’s it.” Anathema leaned forward, her elbows wrinkling the neat lace of the tablecloth. “Well?”

“Well,” Newt agreed. He looked down, then up. “Would you care to do the honors?”

“No. Just tell me what you see.”

He stated down at the tea leaves, not seeing much of anything. “Um.” He tilted his head. “There’s a zebra... with an egg on its back. And a cornucopia. Pine cones. A snake. A book. I think the snake’s reading the book. And a sack of potatoes. Some seashells. An old wireless. A sparrow. The moon.” He blinked. “Jane Austen doing needlepoint.”

At this, Anathema snatched the cup away from him. “ _Really_ , Newt. You needn’t...” She tilted her head in much the same way Newt had. Then she blinked. “I think it’s Charlotte Brontë, actually.”


	27. argyleheir

A drabble for the [](https://go100.livejournal.com/profile)[**go100**](https://go100.livejournal.com/) Distance challenge:

"On the Line"

“It’s not going to work,” said Wensleydale.

Brian smiled. “Sure it is.”

“You’re telling me that two dingy tin cans--”

“They’re not dingy. I found ’em in the attic.”

“--and a bunch of string can carry sound waves? It’s impossible. It’s beyond _physics_.”

“Adam helped me set out the line.”

Wensleydale paused. He looked down at the can on Brian’s window ledge; its connecting string led a white winding path over pavement and under bough, on and on until it met its mate. “He did?”

“Yeah.”

“Fine. We’ll try it,” Wensleydale said. “But I get to speak first.”


	28. argyleheir

A drabble for the [](https://go100.livejournal.com/profile)[**go100**](https://go100.livejournal.com/) New Year challenge.

12/29/06

"The Bug"

“Wait, I didn’t get to the _good_ part.”

“No, Crowley,” Hastur said, extending a grimy finger. “ _You_ wait.”

Crowley waited.

“Yer sayin’ all this does is mess around wi’ people’s heads?”

“Er,” agreed Crowley. “We-ell, see, they _think_ computers’ll crash and bring about the fall of civilization.” He took a deep breath before finishing lamely, “The media’s having a field day.”

“So is _anythin’_ gonna end?”

Crowley blinked. Then he said smoothly, “The _millennium_ is scheduled to end in,” he checked his watch, “thirty-seven hours, six minutes, and fifty-one seconds.”

Hastur and Ligur exchanged a wide-eyed glance. And then, “Really?”


	29. argyleheir

...and an overgrown drabble for the [](https://go100.livejournal.com/profile)[**go100**](https://go100.livejournal.com/) "forever" challenge.

"Upgrade"

There was no denying it: Aziraphale had done _something_ to the place. One of the tried and true facts of existence was that bookshop back rooms didn’t simply embellish _themselves_. Also: Crowley was an expert at observation.

He shot a glance over his shoulder before fingering the drapes. “Are these new?”

“What?” Aziraphale’s voice piped down the stairway. He followed soon after it, his hair slightly disheveled but his clothes crisp and clean. “Oh. I’ve had them a while.”

“Did you repaper the walls?” And then: “No, you couldn’t have done. Paisley went out with shag carpeting.”

Aziraphale arched a brow before proffering Crowley’s cup. “Are you quite all right?”

“Mm.” Crowley slumped down into his chair, wincing as the tea scalded his tongue. Then he realized. “New dining set.”

“Well, you were always on about how natty the old one was. Can’t say I disagree,” Aziraphale mused. “The legs were never level, even when it was new.”

“Tossed them, did you?”

“They would have broken eventually.”

Crowley took another sip, not meeting Aziraphale’s eye. “Could’ve been mended.”

“Just for you to complain about your wobbly chair for another century?”

“Yes, but _Formica_?”

“I’m told it’s quite sturdy.”

“It’d survive a bomb blast _and_ retain its original color.”

“The salesman called it ‘flamingo.’”

Crowley sighed. “Funny, I’d have pegged it as ‘salmon.’”


	30. argyleheir

Aziraphale and Crowley, 100 words -- 

4/28/08

"Collector's Item"

 

"Shoes? Maybe you left them in the den."

"That's a closet, Crowley."

"What?"

"It's full of things. Rubbish. Terrible fire hazard to block the entry, I'm told."

"Are you kidding? There's plenty of room."

"You've a pinball machine."

"The last _Thunderball_ on Earth."

"Your desk is covered with car parts."

"I have them so I don't have to _use_ them."

"Tudor tapestries?"

"D'you know how much those're worth?"

"My word— No. Brighton, 1949? That pennywhistle you bought to worry the gulls?"

"And other things."

" _Really_."

"You should've seen your face!"

"I can't believe you saved it."

"Better safe than sorry."


	31. argyleheir

Aziraphale/Crowley drabble pair, 300 words -- 

4/30/08

"No Mean Art"

It's like this: six – no, _seven_ – down pillows aligned against the headboard, and the headboard itself made from a single piece of carved teak salvaged off the coast of Kingston in 1723. The wood, having bobbed for weeks, was tempered with salt; in the night it (ineffably, marvelously) trades still air for the scent of the sea. (See? Aromatherapy before aromatherapy was a synapse in some unfortunate apocathary's frontal lobe.) Then, lower, thousand thread count sheets in crisp white, not a pleat out of place all the long, wide way to the foot.

It's comfortable. The coverlet is always warm, the blanket folded to drape in clean lines above the throat. The mattress all but anticipates what sort of day one's had; this often leads to cloud-like conditions, with increasing patches of malleability through that third REM period.

Perfect, right? And almost a shame to muss it with any regularity.

***

It's like this: cramped and musty, and not a little olfactorily offensive, with a mattress more lump than cushion. The head and footboards are rickety wrought iron, ornate and perhaps once well-liked, but now merely a pair of aging curiosities.

And yet it's comfortable, provided you're a crate of unsorted nineteenth century children's primers and a cache of tweed jackets: such things heed little mind to biscuit crumbs in the weave of the duvet (Jammie Dodgers by the intermittent spots of old plum). There's never enough room. So naturally, the moth-addled blankets are better cast aside, out of the way and out of sight for all the dust allergies they might bring on, only to be dragged back over cooling limbs in the long hours before dawn.

The stuff of nightmares, or perhaps the lesser sort of German wives' tale. And almost a shame to make it with any regularity.


	32. argyleheir

For [](https://embossedsilver.livejournal.com/profile)[**embossedsilver**](https://embossedsilver.livejournal.com/): happy birthday!

Aziraphale and Crowley, G -- 

5/19/08

"Top Shelf"

 

"What if I wanted to buy one?"

"What?"

"One of these. Um. You know."

"I'm sorry, dear boy. I don't follow you."

"This _is_ a bookshop, right?"

"Obviously."

"And you _sell_ books?"

"...Yes."

"So pretend I'm a customer."

"Your feet are on the counter."

"And they'll remain there until I buy something."

"What sort of something?"

"One of these, I think. Nice gilt. Leather's quite smart. Wouldn't look half bad on the mahogany shelves I just had installed."

"That's a signed first edition. It's worth fifty thousand pounds."

"Is it?"

"On a slow day."

"Good job I found it, then."

"No, no. Put that away! Er. I don't accept personal cheques."

"Visa?"

"Are you planning a trip?"

"Give over, Aziraphale."

"It was a gift from Tolstoy himself."

"Tolstoy a big fan of bears, was he?"

"I thought _everyone_ knew that."

"Bears in bush hats and Wellies?"

"To each his own."

"Is that marmalade on the title page?"

"Ah. The glue must be running. I'll look at it in the morning. And now I think of it, I've never seen that before in my life. Someone must've left it here by mistake."

"So it isn't worth fifty thousand pounds?"

"Not as such."

"I'll give you sixpence."

"Just take it."

"Sorry?"

"It's yours."

"...Something wrong with it?"


	33. argyleheir

Aziraphale + Crowley + early-80s technology = 200 words, 

7/6/08

BONUS ROUND

"There! There it goes!" Aziraphale crowed, bucking forward 'til he'd all but tipped his wine down his front. "A right proud mallard."

_Bang._

"Poor devil didn't see you coming."

_Bang._

"Oh-ho, another! Just past that shrubbery."

_Bang, bang._

"Blast, but that hound was in the way. Um. What if you-- Well. Birdshot's hardly the most reliable ammunition, and he takes up so much _room_."

Crowley blinked. Then he glanced up from the television. "'S hardly sportsmanlike."

"Yes," said Aziraphale. "Of course you're right. And I suppose it might upset your machine... Frightfully sensitive."

"Are you kidding? This is the most sophisticated—"

_Bzzt-bzzt-bzzzttt._

"—electronic gaming console on the market. This hasn't even been _released_ yet. D'you know how much they'd pay for it in Tokyo?"

"How much?"

"A _lot_ ," said Crowley, unflappably. "Wouldn't be worth its motor if it couldn't stand up to a little finesse."

"Oh?"

_Thud._

Thud, thud, thud.

"Oh. That must've taken out half the migratory population of the Western Hemisphere. Although I'd not expected so much blood. D'you suppose he's gone rabid?"

"Hell hound."

Aziraphale looked from the fiery-eyed eight-bit pooch to the plastic, fully-wired shooter in Crowley's hands, and then back again. "Home-field advantage."


End file.
